by Tessa Teevan
Leaning into him, I gently shake his shoulder. “Branson…” I whisper and wait a moment before saying his name again. It’s no use. He’s completely down for the count, and I know I won’t be able to wake him.
With a heavy sigh, I decide that my best option is to leave him where he is. Surprisingly, he looks comfortable enough. I recline the back of his side of the couch so it’s lying flat then place a blanket over him, tucking it under his chin. As I stand up straight, I take a moment to study him. His lip has healed almost completely—thank goodness, because the memory of those lips on mine causes my skin to tingle and I can’t wait to feel them again. The bruising is still dark, only slightly yellow in spots, but he looks so much less vulnerable than he did lying in that hospital bed. The color’s come back to his face, though his cheekbones are slightly hollow, something I know I can remedy now that we’re home.
Home.
I don’t know if it’s just a natural reaction to call this home, but it feels more like home than anywhere else has for a really long time. Possibly even ever.
With one last look at him, I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, whispering, “Goodnight.” He doesn’t even stir, so I turn off the television, leaving one small lamp on in the corner just in case he wakes up in the middle of the night.
As I walk towards the master bedroom, I can’t help but laugh at the thought that I’m going to bed by myself. I told him that I wouldn’t sleep with him tonight, and I guess that’s coming true, even if I don’t want it to.
When I enter the room, I take the time to study it, not having been able to do so earlier with his mom talking my ear off as she showed me where she put my things. The room is masculine, and there is no sign that a female ever lived here. I wonder if it’s always been this way or if he redecorated after his divorce.
In the middle of the room, there’s a huge king-sized bed that rests on a dark cherry wood frame. The matching nightstands and dresser indicate that it came in a set, and unsurprisingly, a large, flat-panel television rests on the wall directly across from the bed. The room is meticulously clean and organized, as is the closet. I’m not surprised. A man like Branson loves order, control, and I don’t think he could live amongst chaos.
The massive master bathroom is the same way. There’s nothing on the counter other than hand soap and an electric toothbrush. After searching through the drawers, I see that everything has its place. I can’t even find a single strand of hair on the counter, and I make a mental note to ask Branson if he has a cleaning lady because I’ve never seen a man keep a bathroom this clean, or organized.
The bathroom drawer his mom set aside for me is full of expensive face washes and moisturizers. I smile when I see that nearly every scented lotion is coconut, and I know that Branson must’ve given his mom specific instructions when it came to the bathroom products. With an unexpected warmth in my heart, I spend the next few minutes pampering myself, and it feels heavenly. When I see bubble bath, I set it on the edge of the Jacuzzi bathtub, glancing longingly for a moment, wishing I could soak in one. Under doctor’s orders, I’m stuck with showers for now, thanks to the stitches from my surgery, but the minute I get the okay, I’m getting in that bad boy.
After I’m done in the bathroom, I find the clothes Amelia bought for me, hoping she remembered pajamas. As I go through the contents of the drawer, my cheeks flush when I pull out what I presume is a nightgown. It’s silky and thin, and when I hold it up to the light, I see that it’s practically see-through. It comes to mid-thigh and has tiny spaghetti straps. Basically, this nightie leaves little to the imagination, and I wonder what Amelia’s angle is here. I guess she really is happy that Branson’s with someone. It’s amusing, but there’s no way in hell I’m wearing it. As I search through the rest of the clothes, I don’t find anything that could be considered nightwear. Even the T-shirts she bought barely cover my ass.
Even though I don’t want to invade his privacy, I open a few of Branson’s drawers until I find one that has his underwear. And I’m pleased to report that he wears boxer briefs—my absolute favorite. After taking out a black pair, I hope he doesn’t mind as I slip them on. They hang off my ass, but with the elastic, they at least stay up around my waist. The next drawer down has T-shirts, and I take out the first one and slide it on over my head. Beside the dresser is a full-length mirror, and I can’t help but grin at the reflection staring back at me.
I’m standing in Branson’s room, with my long, dark hair up in a messy bun, my face clear and makeup free, in nothing but his boxer briefs and a Wellington Enterprises shirt. I didn’t pick out this shirt on purpose, but I kind of like that I’m wearing it. Almost as if I’m his.
Property of Wellington. I groan as soon as the thought crosses my mind.
I know. I know. It’s a completely conflicting thought from what I’ve been thinking about Benjamin, not wanting to be someone’s trophy wife. But Branson doesn’t treat me like that. I’m not a means to an end. If he wants me, it’s because he wants me, not what I can do or be for him. And the thought sends dizzying sensations throughout my body. Jesus, you’d think I’m some sex-starved woman the way I’m salivating over him already, and I know I need to get a grip. And not just grip of him. At least not yet.
The bed sits up high, and I have to stretch to get up into it. As I pull back the plush comforter, I slide into incredibly soft, cool sheets that feel amazing on my legs. Then again, anything probably would after a week’s worth of sleeping in a hospital bed. But as I turn off the bedside lamp and rest my head back against a fluffy, luxurious pillow, I sigh in delight. A girl could definitely get used to this.
And as I drift off to sleep, I have one final disconcerting thought.
I kind of already am.
SOFT, WARM lips trail across my bare skin as she kisses, licks, and nibbles her way down my chest. Her tongue darts out of her mouth to graze each nipple before she bites down deliberately, bringing on full-body shivers that cause my legs to clench. She must feel it—her head comes up ever so slightly as she greets me with a wicked grin that lets me know there’s more where that came from.
I shift and try to capture her to lift her up to me, but it’s no use. Before I can get ahold of her, she shifts out of reach then pushes me back against the couch, shaking her head at me. I’m not used to this, not having control. The look of burning desire in her dark-brown eyes has me under her spell, and I’m stock-still as her lips return to mine and she gives me a quick kiss.
As she moves down my body, her perky tits press against my skin, her hard nipples making her arousal apparent. It takes everything in me not to reach my hand out to stroke them.
All in due time, Branson. All in due time.
I inhale sharply as she passes over my belly button, outlining each one of my abs before her tongue traces the thick lines of the V that leads down to my dick. As her lips kiss the base of my erection, she looks up at me, making eye contact. The devilish gleam in her eye turns me on, causing it to twitch, and she grins wickedly. She pulls up slightly, wrapping her lips around the tip, giving me just a small tease before she slowly draws me into her mouth, her tongue running along the underside of my cock. She groans at the taste of me, and the vibrations of her throat have me harder than ever. My breathing quickens, and as she moves farther down my shaft, my hands ball into fists at my side as I try to refrain from making fists in her hair and pushing her down until all of me is in her mouth.
Her tongue strokes me and her head bobs up and down as she works me over, alternating between licking and sucking. When her dainty hand joins in, I'm surprised at the strength of her hold. I have to rest my head back against the chair, closing my eyes because I know that my resolve is quickly melting away. She moans again. Then she takes a hand and begins to massage my balls, and I know I'm a goner.
Just as I'm about to blow my load in her mouth, she pulls away, and I want to weep at the missing contact.
I jolt awake, momentarily dazed and confused as I take in
my surroundings. Shaking my head, trying to make sense of what the hell is going on, I blink a few times to try and wipe away the haze. My living room comes into view, and when I look around, I see that the small lamp in the corner is on, giving me just enough light to see.
I’m lying in the reclining couch with a blanket covering me, and…well, hell. My hand’s in my shorts, resting on a massive erection. I groan as I lift the blanket, sighing in relief when I see that, while the dream was certainly erotic, at least it wasn’t a wet one. I haven’t had one of those since junior high, and even though I haven’t been laid in over a year, having one at this age would be embarrassing as hell.
But holy shit. What a dream. If Ari’s that good in my imagination, I can’t wait to find out just how good she is in real life. If I hadn’t wanted her before (I fucking did) then I want her now (okay, I just want her more now).
Looking around, I see that I’m alone, and unsubstantiated panic sets in. Where the hell is she?
I think back on the evening and I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything to make her run away. Okay, so maybe I was jumping the gun a little bit on making this whole fake engagement real—temporarily—but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I think she liked the idea because it made it less of a lie. It’s probably ridiculous logic, but I meant what I said. If she’s here, we might as well make the most of it. Instead of spending weeks building up sexual tension and tiptoeing around our attraction, I figured why not just go ahead and put it out there? We’re both consenting adults, and if we want to fuck each other’s brains out, I don’t see any reason for waiting for society’s acceptable time frame to do so. And fuck her brains out is exactly what I want to do.
But it’s not just that. I’m not just physically attracted to her. I like her. And it’s fucking weird. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve liked a woman. I spend more time with my colleagues than anyone, and I don’t even like most of them, so any personal relationships I might have? Well, let’s just say I have none.
But tonight, when her cute, little nose wrinkled when I turned on South Park, I found it endearing and promised her that she’d love it. At least I hoped she did because it’s kind of my guilty pleasure. For the last decade or so, I’ve been relegated to watching it alone in my office while Megan watched her vapid reality television shows or cooking shows—not that she ever got any tips from those.
So when Ari struggled not to laugh after the first episode, I had a feeling that she was about to change her mind on the show. And then I couldn’t take my eyes off her when she was biting on her inner cheeks, trying not to let her laughter bubble up. Finally, I jabbed her in the stomach and then tickled her—careful to avoid her stitches as she finally let loose and admitted it was funny. And I loved it.
Then she settled into my embrace and we spent the next few hours hanging out, talking, and laughing as if we’ve known each other for years instead of just a mere week. And in the eight years that I’ve lived in this house, it was probably the most comfortable I’ve ever felt, and I know why. It’s because of her. Because, with her, I am comfortable. I can let loose.
I wasn’t wishing I were working and I didn’t have a single thought of spending the evening in my office like I did most nights with Megan. Not even close. I wanted nothing more than to be there on the couch with this beautiful woman curled up in my arms, and I loved every single second of it.
Not that I was trying to compare her to Megan. I’m not sure anyone compares to my ex. But it was hard not to do it because the more time I spend with her, the more I realize just how different she is. And just how attracted I am to her, both physically and mentally. And it makes me wonder how much differently my life would’ve have turned out if Megan had never shown up at my place that fateful day so many years ago.
And now that I’ve woken up alone, I’m wondering where in the hell she is. And how I’ve let myself get attached to her so quickly. I need to remember that this is temporary, and since it is, I don’t want to waste a single night without her in my arms.
Since I woke up covered with the blanket, I assume she’s gone to bed in my room, and I curse myself for falling asleep on her. I push the recliner down and lean forward, struggling a bit as I try to pull the wheelchair towards me. I’m in a straight-leg cast thanks to the broken bone in my knee, and as much as I wish I could walk to the bedroom on my own two feet, I’m reminded of the doctor’s orders not to put any weight on it. So when I get the chair situated in front of me, I balance myself on one leg and gently lower myself into the chair. My arm’s in a brace from where I sprained my wrist, but I’m still able to push the wheels and navigate to my room without too much trouble.
As I enter my room, I curse at the blackout curtains that make it nearly impossible to see. I have to take my phone out of my pocket and use it as a flashlight just to make sure I don’t run my leg into any hard surfaces.
When I near the bed, I see Ari’s sleeping on my side. Somehow, in her sleep, she’s thrown the covers off herself. I can’t help sneaking a peek, and as I shine my phone over her body, my throat tightens when I see her wearing a Wellington T-shirt. She’s practically swimming in it, but it looks good on her. It looks right.
As I move the light down, a whole different organ tightens at the sight of her in a pair of my boxers, her long, lean legs laid bare for me to see. I have to resist the urge to reach out and caress them. Instead, I push the chair back and round the bed, anxious to crawl in beside her.
Just as I’m standing to climb into bed, my sock slips on the hardwood floor, causing my foot to fly out from under me. I try to grab the bed as I fall, but my ass hits the very edge of the chair, which goes flying backwards, and before I know it, I’m yelling out a string of expletives and I land flat on my back, knocking the wind out of me.
As sharp pain reverberates throughout my body, I close my eyes and grit my teeth, trying to erase the stars I see in my vision. I faintly register the sound of the sheets rustling, but I’m too busy concentrating on catching my breath to understand what it means. Until I feel someone hovering over me, my waist being straddled.
“Oh my God, Branson, are you okay? Are you conscious? Oh shit,” she says in rapid succession, nearly sounding panicked. She touches my face, gently tapping on my cheek with her fingers. “Branson? Branson? Wake up.”
“I’m awake, baby,” I manage to say, and I hear her audibly sigh with relief. “Just trying to catch my bearings.” When I open my eyes, I see that she’s peering down at me, a concerned expression.
“Are you okay?” she repeats, and I nod.
“Yeah, I think so. Just a bruised ego. And maybe a bruised ass. You’ll have to check for me later,” I tell her, giving her a wink.
Apparently, she’s not amused. She pushes off my chest, and I miss the warmth of her body covering mine instantly.
“What the hell were you thinking? You shouldn’t have been up by yourself, let alone trying to climb into this monstrous bed,” she scolds.
I run my finger along the bottom of my boxer shorts, feeling the soft, bare skin of her thigh. “I was thinking how unfair it was that a beautiful woman was in my bed and I wasn’t there with her. I was thinking that, for the first time since I can remember, I didn’t want to sleep alone.” My hand stops moving and rests on her bare thigh, and her eyes soften. “And I may have been thinking about that whole consummation discussion we had earlier.”
She cocks an eyebrow as she looks down at me. “Wow, and you were on such a roll there. Without that last line, you may have actually gotten a little closer to ‘that whole consummation thing,’” she says, using her fingers to make air quotes, “but then you had to go and ruin it.”
I groan, and a wicked smile crosses her lips. It’s the same smile I pictured in my dreams, and I harden instantly.
She leans down until her lips are hovering just over my ear. “And it’s too bad, Branson. Because, before I went to bed, that was the last thing on my mind, too.” With that, she stands up and moves out o
f reach. She must see the pained expression on my face—not from physical pain—because she laughs then holds out a hand. “Let’s see if we can’t actually get you into bed this time.”
With a little bit of difficulty, we work together to first get me off the floor and then into bed. Ariana tucks me in then places a soft kiss on my lips before pulling away and walking out of the room. She reenters a few minutes later with my pain pills and a glass of water. I try to refuse them, not wanting the total grogginess, but she insists.
“Trust me, babe. You’re going to be feeling that fall tomorrow. We might as well try and preempt a little bit of the pain. Just take them. Please,” she says.
I find that I can’t say no to her. She smiles when I comply then takes the glass from me and sets it on the nightstand. I’m staring up at the ceiling when she slides into bed beside me.
“You good?” she asks.
I nod because, yeah, I’m really good.
She turns off the light, descending us into darkness as I hear her settling in the bed. I mentally curse this huge bed because there’s a cavernous amount of space between us. There’s nothing but the sound of our breathing to fill the silence, and it’s almost deafening.
“Hey, Branson?” she asks.
“What’s up, baby?”
“Is this weird? This is weird, isn’t it? I mean, yeah, we had that talk earlier, but now that we’re here, alone in your bed, are we making a mistake?”